Running scared.
by Lajk24
Summary: This is 'Anxious Watchers' under a revised name. New parts added! Now complete! - Post Horsemen fix-it. Joe forces Duncan and Methos to a confrontation. Slash.
1. Part one

Anxious Meetings and Sneaky Watchers:  
  
This is yet another obligatory post horsemen fix-it. It is slash, rated R. Not terribly explicit, but the warning is there! Feedback very welcome - please read and review, e-mail me on lajk24@hotmail.com, visit my web-site: www.the-word.freeservers.com.  
I'd like to thank everyone who has given me such nice encouragement on my crossover stories - at least one will be finished very soon, I promise!  
  
Disclaimer: I own no-one here, and am making no profit. I hope you enjoy.  
  
  
Part One:   
  
The sound of the telephone interrupted Methos in the middle of a particularly good dream.  
"Pierson here. This had better be good. Do you know what time it is?" Whatever the time was, he was sure it was too damned early. Even though Immortals didn't get hangovers, he had been at Joe's bar last night until well after closing time. He'd been drowning his sorrows and luckily his friend had taken pity on him and not thrown him out.   
"Yeah. 10.30, Adam. Late enough. Listen, I need a favour..."  
"Joe, what can I do for you?"  
"I can't really say, but can you be at the barge in a half hour?"  
"MacLeod's barge?"  
"You know of another we both know round here?  
"What's going on?"  
"Just be there, old man". With that the bartender hung up, leaving one rather annoyed yet curious 5000 year old man to drag himself out of bed. As he showered and dressed his thoughts, as usual lately, drifted to Duncan MacLeod. He sincerely hoped that whatever Joe had in mind that the Highlander would be out. Didn't he go running or something ridicuously early each morning? Surely Joe would have to sense not to put him in the same room as Duncan, especially after last night. Did he really want the death of the oldest immortal on his conscience?   
  
'La Blue's Bar', the previous evening:  
  
"How long is this thing going to go on between you and Mac?" Joe asked Methos, gently, pouring the old man a glass of his usual beer.  
Methos just shrugged, and refused to meet his friend's gaze.  
"Methos, can't you just talk to him? Get it over with?"  
"He's the one who didn't want to talk. He's the one who said we're through".  
"Yeah, but he's not the one sitting in my bar trying to drown his sorrows", Joe commented.  
Methos suddenly stiffened in a gesture that Joe knew so well. Another Immortal was nearby.  
"Wanna bet?" Methos replied with a wry grin, taking several large sips of his drink.  
Sure enough, a second later, the bar door opened to reveal Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. He stood in the doorway for a second, the rain dripping off him as he tried to regain his bearing. It was blowing a gale outside, and had started raining about fifteen minutes ago. Duncan shook out his long, black coat and attempted to tame his hair, which had begun to escape the confines of it's silver tie and was reverting to it's past form of wild and unruly. He gave Methos a quick, black glance before moving to sit at the opposite side of the bar. Joe just raised his eyebrows at Methos, in silent comment, and went to greet his other friend.  
"Hi Mac."  
"Hi Joe. How have you been?"  
"Fine, fine. What brings you here on such a god-awful night as this?"  
Duncan grinned slightly and shrugged.  
"Just needed a change of scenery, I guess. After all, rain can't kill me, right?"  
"Guess not. As you can see, the old man had the same idea. Good thing I've got some regulars, hey? Night like tonight, I doubt anyone else will venture here".  
"Yeah, don't worry, Joe, as long as you have beer on tap, you'll keep Methos' custom." Shuttered, dark emotions flittered over the Highlander's face as he spoke of the oldest Immortal.  
"Mmm", was all Joe could comment, as he poured Mac a drink. Whereas Methos, much as he refuted it, wore his emotions close to the surface, MacLeod, for all his talk of people being open and honest with each other, was often a closed book when it came to showing what he was really feeling. Now, it was obvious that the Scot was brooding, and was still angry with Methos. Beyond that, who knew?   
  
Joe still didn't know exactly what had gone on in Bordeaux, sometimes he felt that he would rather not know. MacLeod had become an expert in changing the subject whenever the oldest Immortal's name was mentioned. Methos had told him that Mac had followed him, Kronos and the other two ex-horsemen to Bordeaux, where after further disagreements, Mac had killed Caspian and Kronos, and Methos had killed Silas. Joe still could hardly believe that. He could see how upset the old man was over the fact that Silas was dead, and the fact that he himself had done the deed. Silas may have been one sorry excuse for a human being but Joe could see that Methos had cared for the other man, that in a sense, they really had become like brothers. As both Watcher and friend he had pushed the issue, and Methos had finally told him that if Silas had lived, Mac would now be dead. Joe had shaken his head in awe, and had wondered to himself if Mac knew just how much he really owed the older Immortal. Or how much Methos cared for Mac.   
  
He also had a feeling that Mac was missing the old man as much as Methos appeared to be missing him, but was just too stubborn to talk things through. Poor Duncan, Joe mused. He was a good man. One of the best. But, his underlying need to play judge and jury sometimes became a case of cutting off his nose to spite his face. Duncan had lost a good friend in Boudeaux and had put Joe in a very difficult position. Maybe it was time to do something about it, the Watcher decided, a smile creeping onto his face as he returned to talk to Methos. A flash of lightening caught his attention, and he decided that he, for one, was glad he didn't have to leave the building at some point that evening. He considered closing the bar and spending the rest of the evening literally knocking his two friend's heads together. It was unlikely he would get any more customers tonight. The wind was getting even stronger, if possible, and Joe was sure there would be some fair damage done by the morning. Cables down and fences crashed. Probably a great number of trees felled. Joe couldn't help a wry grin. He liked storms. They cleared the air. He often thought it was nature's way of letting off steam and was worth it just to feel the freshness in the air afterwards. It was a lesson many humans could do well to learn, he mused, especially the two men sitting in his bar who really were old enough to have learnt it by now. The atmosphere before a storm hit was always the worst, but afterwards, well, there was nothing sweeter. He could feel the tension between his two friends and knew that once this storm hit it would be fierce, but once it was over, things should be a lot clearer. He just hoped he wouldn't be caught in the carnage.   
  
Methos watched out of the corner of his eye as Joe served Mac his drink and the two men made small talk. He sighed. Joe was right. Surely they could talk this thing through, be friends again. There was nothing he wanted more, but all he could think of was Duncan telling him they were through. He never wanted to hear that ice in his friend's voice again. The one small consolation was that he could also hear Duncan's voice telling Cassandra not to kill him. Although, he mused, that was probably just so that he could live with the knowledge of what he'd done. And the suffering. The memories. And the pain of having Duncan so close and yet so far. The Highlander was ten feet away, but could have been a hundred, thousand miles. Before Bourdeax, the Scot would have greeted him with a warm smile and a friendly comment. Now, he would hardly spare him a glance. Was he deliberately torturing him, he wondered. Did the Highlander know how he could hardly tear his gaze from him? Especially with his hair all wild and sexy, and his eyes smoldering with the intensity of his brooding. Methos often got annoyed with the Scot when he got into brooding mode, but, he acknowledged, the dark, intense looks and the obvious deep emotions that showed in his eyes, giving instant added sex appeal, more than made up for it. Methos grew a deep breath and struggled to change the focus of his gaze. It rested upon Joe, who had just returned to his side of the bar. Methos hadn't even noticed, so intense was his attention on Duncan. Joe greeted him with a quizzical eyebrow and a small smile.  
"Admiring the view?"  
Methos frowned. Could he have been so obvious?  
"What? No. Just wondering at MacLeod's new hairstyle," he mumbled.  
"Right. Whatever you say, Old Man. Want another drink?" Joe tactfully changed the subject and pointed to Methos' beer glass, which had somehow managed to empty itself over the last ten minutes.  
"Yeah, thanks Joe".  
Joe just smiled and mumbled something about just having to change the barrels, then he'd get the beer.  
Methos nodded and, as he watched Joe leave, found his gaze drifting back towards Mac. The Highlander was sitting staring into his whisky, looking almost as fed-up as he felt. Yet he was still completely irresistable.   
Mentally telling himself to get a grip, Methos decided that, on second thoughts, another drink would be too much torture, and that he would surely be better off at home. At least there, if he couldn't stop thinking about Duncan, he could actually do something about it. Not that it would be anywhere near as good as the real thing. He assumed. Not that he'd ever get the chance to find out.   
  
Decision made, he stood and began to make for the door. The storm didn't bother him, and in fact rather suited his mood. Perhaps he would wander around outside for a while until he got hit by lightening. It could be rather exhilarating, in a very masochistic way.   
  
He faltered slightly as he passed by Duncan. Maybe he should just try to talk to him, he wondered. Duncan, sensing him, turned to face him, his eyes locking with Methos'. Methos just stared, beginning to get lost in the deep, dark pools that were the Scot's eyes. He always thought that he could drown in Mac's eyes, and he couldn't think of a better place in which to loose himself.   
"Mac", he breathed. Duncan just stared at him, and, after a minute, turned in his seat, facing the bar again and ignoring Methos. A chill which had nothing to do with the storm outside ran through Methos, and he quickly marched through the door.   
  
Once outside, though, he found that he couldn't face returning to his empty little apartment, and ended up wandering aimlessly around the freezing city for the next hour. The temperature dropped even lower, but Methos hardly noticed. The chill in the air was nothing compared to the ice in his heart. He honestly hadn't realised until then just how much warmth in his life came from Duncan MacLeod. What was it about the Highlander that, when he looked at you, you felt needed, and when he smiled at you, you melted right to the tips of your toes? He was just a man, but he seemed to inspire such goodness, that he drew people to him like the proverbial moth to a flame. Methos had found that he no longer wanted to live out in the shadows. Oh, it was dangerous to be around Mac, that was true. But it was a risk that Methos had long ago decided was worth it, surprising even himself. He had been attracted to Duncan ever since meeting him. Who wouldn't be? The man was gorgeous. Unfortunately, he also believed himself to be God's gift to women, and the couple of times that Methos thought there had been a spark between them, he had reluctantly convinced himself were just his imagination. He had never done or said anything to reveal how he felt, not wanting to jepotise the friendship. Lately, though, he had realised that the attraction was growing slowly into something more. Until the whole Horsemen incident. Now, he would be lucky if he could ever even have a friendly drink with the Scot again.   



	2. Part Two

Part Two:  
  
Joe had watched Methos leave, and with a shake of his head, he turned back to Mac.  
"Couldn't you at least talk to the guy?" he demanded.  
"Joe, don't start on me. This is none of your business." Mac's voice was gruff, and with a flourish he finished his drink and made to leave.  
"Oh, no, Mac. You're not leaving. I want some answers. And don't tell me this is none of my business! You're both my friends and its Hell to see you like this!"  
"You think it's easy for me?"  
"I don't know what to think, MacLeod! You don't tell me anything and I got very little information from Methos. But, what I do know is the expression on that man's face. He looks like you just killed his puppy, Mac! Like he just lost his best friend..."  
Joe let his voice trail, raising his eyebrows at Mac and willing the other man to take the bait.  
"Fine, Joe. Get me another drink and I'll tell you what I can". With a sigh, Mac sat back down and tied to gather his thoughts as Joe poured them both a drink.  
"Would you believe me if I said I wasn't mad at Methos?"  
"At this moment, no".  
"Well, I'm not. What I am is very confused. I may be taking it out on Methos, but that's something I'm sure he can deal with".  
" 'Deal with'? Mac!"  
"Ok, ok. Let me try and explain before you bite my head off. You know what happened in Bordeaux?"  
"Some. I know that Methos killed Silas and you killed Kronos".  
"Did he tell you there was a double Quickening?"  
"No".  
"The two Quickenings happened at the same time. When we took them, they joined together. I think I got some of Silas and Methos some of Kronos. But that's not all. Our Quickenings kind of joined together as well. I've never experienced anything like it before. It was like-like getting a glimpse into Methos' soul. When you take a Quickening, you kind of see their whole life flash before your eyes. But it's too much, so it becomes intergrated into your own being. With this, it was such a brief glimpse, and maybe because he took in some of my Quickening as well, it didn't settle. There's some strange connection there, Joe..." He faulted, and looked up at Joe, wondering if he'd made any sense at all.  
The mortal was looking at him mouth agap, stunned in silence at the story.  
Duncan gave him a wry grin.  
"I know. It's incomprehensible. I have no idea why or really how it happened. Because we took two powerful Quickenings at the same time, in close proximity? A complete fluke? Some kind of cosmic joke? I've never heard of such a thing happening before."  
"Man!" Joe whistled, shaking his head.  
"Now, I can't tell you everything Methos has ever done - unfortunately. But I could sense that whatever, whoever, he was when he was with Kronos, he's changed. I could-I could feel his guilt. It was almost overwhelming. To live through that-I don't know. I thought it bad enough dealing with a dark Quickening, but this..."  
"Maybe the world really was different then?" Joe commented.  
"I-I guess so. We all know Methos is only trying to survive, right? That was the other thing that I felt. Even after 5000 years, I think- I think his underlying motiavation is a fear of death."  
"I can think of worse."  
"I guess so. I just - I don't know what to say to him, Joe. If I got a look into his soul, maybe he saw into mine. What would he have seen there? There's still a connection there, Joe, and I'm not sure I can deal with this."  
"Well, maybe talking to him is a good place to start".  
"And say what? And how do I even begin to apologise for what I said to him, what I thought about him. I acted like he was a monster, Joe! And he accepted it!"  
"Maybe he thought that was the only way to deal with Kronos?"  
"Get me mad enough to fight him? Maybe. That doesn't excuse it. I should have trusted him, listened to him. When will I learn, Joe?" Duncan groaned, and downed the rest of his drink. Joe finally smiled at his friend.  
"Maybe you just did, Mac. So, now what?"  
Duncan just shrugged.  
"He's hurting, Mac. I don't think you realise how much. He cares about you, and, for some reason, about what you think of him."  
Duncan met this comment with a raised eyebrow.   
"Hey, we all want the great Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod to be our friend", Joe stated with a grin.  
Duncan shook his head. "I do care about him, Joe. That's the other thing. When Cassandra had her sword to his neck..."  
"Cassandra tried to kill Methos? What happened?"  
"I asked her not to kill him. I just couldn't imagine him not being there. He's too important. He's 5000 years old..."  
"He's just a guy".  
"He means too much to lose..."  
"To the world, or to you?"  
"To me", Duncan whispered. Joe just nodded, wondering if that was part of the problem.  
"So, tell him".  
"I-I can't!"  
"Try. The two of you can't go on like this."  
"I know. But I can't. Not now." Signalling that what was the end of the conversation, in his opinion, Duncan got up and put his coat on.  
"Ok. But if need anything, I'm always here."  
"Thanks Joe. You're a good friend".  
"I know," Joe replied with a grin as Duncan left. He didn't know what would happen now, but it was bound to be interesting.   
  
Some time later, Methos found himself back outside the bar. He couldn't sense Duncan inside, so he figured that the Scot had been able to do what he hadn't - go home and rest. Seeing as he was here, he decided to infringe on Joe's hospitality once more. It didn't look like he'd be getting much sleep without it being alcohol induced anyway, with the mood he was in.  
  
Joe raised an eyebrow as Methos reappeared, looking half frozen, and silently poured him a large brandy. When it was half gone, and some feeling had finally returned to Methos' body, the Immortal managed a smile in Joe's direction.  
"You alright?" the Watcher asked, knowing it was a redundant question.  
Methos shrugged. "I'll survive."  
"As always," Joe acknowledged with a grin. Duncan's comments from earlier weighed heavily on his mind as he contemplated the number of times such a comment had gone from his friend's mouth, almost without conscious thought any more. Duncan was right - survival wasn't second nature for Methos, it was nature, the survival instinct his pure and natural state. Even more so than for other Immortals. Methos had so much more to lose, so much more to fear. Just as Duncan Macleod was still the Cheiftan's son, Methos' personality harked back to his early days - days when survival must have been an everyday struggle and life harsher then anything known imagined in the modern age. 5000 years! How the world had changed. How Methos must have changed. It was almost incomprehensible. Feeling woefully inadequate as he considered once again the modern miracle sitting at the bar, Joe did what he did best - poured more drinks and watched, available to listen if needed. The Immortal didn't even notice when the Watcher called time just forty-five minutes later. Two hours later, Joe finally decided to call it a night, and Methos, upright still only to his immortal constitution, stagged home to a pleasantly dreamless sleep.   



	3. Part Three

Part Three:  
  
Present:  
  
Methos stood and stared at the barge for about ten minutes before forcing his feet to move in the direction of the walkway onto the boat. It was as bitterly cold as the previous night, and a light snowfall was beginning. Even that didn't entice him to hurry. This was Mac's barge, and he felt like a trespasser. Something he had never expected to feel about Duncan MacLeod or any place the Highlander called home. He slowly walked up to the boat. He was about half way along the walkway when the buzz hit his senses. 'Mac', he realised.  
A second later, Duncan appeared on the deck.  
"Methos."  
"MacLeod".  
"Are you coming aboard or not?" the Scot growled after a minute, as the older man made no move.  
With a slight nod of his head, Methos continued onto the deck.  
"I thought you'd be out. I was supposed to meet Joe here."  
"So was I."  
"Think we've been stood up?"  
"Set up, more like."  
Methos just nodded, not quite able to raise a grin. What was the Watcher thinking? This would take more than a forced meeting to fix. Did the mortal really want Duncan to kill him? Maybe he'd been expecting too much of Joe's apparent sympathy and friendship. Maybe he did agree that Methos really was the abomination he probably was. That still didn't mean Methos was about to offer Duncan Macleod his head on a plate. Not without a fight. He shook his head. No. Joe surely meant well. At least he tried to understand. He sometimes seemed to understand Methos better than Methos himself. Not that he really deserved understanding and sympathy. He was grateful for it anyway. But Joe was sadly mistaken if he thought that Duncan would understand any time soon.  
  
After staring at the other man for a few minutes, wondering what was going through his mind - he still looked like Mac had killed his puppy - Duncan finally broke the ice.  
"You'd better come inside. It's freezing out here".  
Methos blinked, as if suddenly realising that it was once again, snowing around them. Without a word he followed Mac below decks.  
'Now what?' Duncan wondered, glancing at the other man who seemed to be with him in body only. He hadn't wanted to do this so soon, but maybe it was for the best that Methos was here. He had promised Joe that he'd try. Trust Joe to make sure he kept that promise. If only he knew whether Methos would even listen to a word he said. Maybe it was better to keep to trivial things, at least get the older man to acknowledge him. And he would apologise. After all, it had been him who'd seemingly blanked the other man just the previous evening. How to explain that he just hadn't known what to say to the man. The intensity of Methos' gaze in the bar had unnerved him. Did his opinion really mean that much to the eldest Immortal? What was so special about him? He was a child compared to Methos. He knew he wanted Methos in his life - in amongst his confusion had been much misery. Talking with Joe had been the first time he'd really confessed to himself how much he needed the other immortal's friendship. But knowing what he now did about Methos, could things ever be the same? Especially with the way he'd treated him.   
  
"I'll make some coffee. Make yourself at home".  
Methos slowly settled down on the sofa, his lack of customary sprawl showing just how anxious he felt. Duncan frowned. He had to fix this.   
Duncan made the coffee and went to push the hot cup into Methos still half-frozen hands. The man looked so lost and fragile, so unlike the warrior Duncan knew he could be, that he could have really been just Adam Pierson, poor graduate student, shy and socially inept and so very, very mortal. Very young and very liable to break or bolt if pushed too far. How much of that was real, at least at times, wondered Duncan.  
  
Duncan's hands brushed the tips of Methos' fingers as the coffee was handed over, and it was only this that seemed to bring Methos back to the here and now. Blinking he stared up at Duncan for a moment. Duncan broke the eye-contact as he moved away. Methos' expression hardened slightly and Duncan could feel his eyes on his back as he retreated to get his own drink, and then to a chair around the table. He didn't want to crowd Methos.  
  
Watching Mac through silted eyes, Methos tried to work out why he was still here. It was obvious that they had nothing to say to each other. The longer the silence went on, the harder it seemed to break it. He thought about the many times he'd been in this position before. No, he told himself, not this position. Not quite the same. Before, the silences between them had been comfortable ones, whilst they relaxed with a few beers or some of Mac's good wine, after a game of chess or watching a meaningless video. He'd been sprawled across the sofa, and Duncan had been on the armchair. Ok, he finally decided, once he'd finished his coffee, if Mac wasn't going to say anything, it looked like he'd have to. Duncan was currently staring into his cup, looking like he'd rather be anywhere than where he was. A sudden anger flared up in Methos. If the Boy Scout so obviously didn't want him here, why should he stay? He didn't have to answer to Duncan. And he wasn't about to stay here and listen to one of Duncan's lectures he was so well-known for. He stood up and grabbed his coat.  
"Well, thanks, MacLeod. We really must do this again some time", he told Mac, and started towards the upper deck.  
"You're leaving?!" The surprise in Duncan's voice caught Methos unawares. Had MacLeod really thought he had nothing better to do than sit in silence all day waiting to see if Duncan MacLeod of the Bloody Clan MacLeod decided to talk to him.  
"No, Mac, I'm going to make breakfast! Of course, I'm leaving."   
"But you…" He tried again. "Where will you go?"  
"Oh I don't know…" 'Somewhere where I'm a little more wanted, maybe', he finished to himself, but he made no further move. It was Duncan's move now, and he was interested in how the Highlander would play it. Did he really not want him to go? Maybe he thought that if he didn't talk to him now, the lecture would never happen. The man had taken long enough to even look at him again, let along design to speak to him again. And poor, deprived Methos would never learn his lesson and take his judgement like a good little boy. What gave him the right, anyway?! What the Hell did Duncan MacLeod know about him and his life?  
"Methos, we have to talk…"  
"No, Mac, we don't."  
"We do. I'm not letting you walk out of here without…"  
"Mac, stop! Why do we have to talk, hmm? Because you say so? Well, that's not a good enough reason, MacLeod. I am outta here".  
"How about, because we're hurting Joe?"  
"Blackmail, MacLeod? I thought you didn't believe it that sort of thing".  
"Whatever works, Methos, now sit down. Please".  
The weariness in the Highlander's voice surprised Methos. Maybe, just maybe, for once, the Scot would listen. With a shrug, Methos sat.  
"Methos, what happened in Boudreaux?" It was almost a whisper. Methos was almost speechless. Of all the things for MacLeod to say next, this was certainly not what he'd been expecting.  
"What do you mean, 'what happened'? You were there", he replied, carefully neutral.  
"I know. I just…Did you feel it, Methos? Something happened. When we took the Quickening…"  
Duncan turned to look at Methos, the look on his face a mixture of relief and apprehension, as if he was relieved to have unburdened himself but unsure of the effects of that action.  
Methos stared at him for a minute, seeing the seriousness in the Highlander's eyes. Damn, why did every single little have to be talked through to death?  
"Yes, MacLeod, I did feel it. Happy now".  
"And?!"  
"And what?"  
"What do we do about it?"  
"Would it sound too callous if I said I don't know and don't really care?"  
"I see."  
"Mac, I don't know what you expect here. If you're willing, I would really like to be your friend again, to sit in Joe's and have a few beers together. But I can't do that if you either aren't willing to trust me and let the past lay in the past where it belongs. Or…"  
"Or…?"  
"Or if you treat me like I should have all the answers…" he whispered.  
"I see", Mac repeated.  
"Mac, that didn't come out right. All I mean is, well, if there is something that you should learn from the Horseman incident is that I'm only human. With good and bad points. Black and white. Just like you, just like Joe. I just want to be your friend. I've changed and grown, seen a lot of things, read a lot of books, but that's all. I have no answers."  
"I'm so sorry".  
Methos blinked. Shook his head. Said nothing.  
After a minute, Duncan frowned. Now what?  
"Methos? Are you ok?"  
"Yeah. I think you just made history there though, MacLeod. Rendered me totally speechless! Did you just apologise to me."  
"Funny, Old Man, funny".  
"Do you mean it?"  
"Yes. You're right. I just had trouble coming to terms with my initial reaction, to the way I treated you, and to what I saw when we took the Quickenings. I can't say that I totally understand what happened, or accept it, but I can accept that you've changed and that, at the time you had no choice. Please say you forgive me".  
"Mac, I forgave you long ago".  
"Oh. I still wish you had trusted me more. Trusted me to help you."  
"I couldn't…I couldn't put you in danger. I do trust you, but I don't find trust easy. I've been betrayed far too often. Many times I've told myself that I should only trust myself, but then I go and do something stupid". Like fall in love, again, he finished to himself, taking in the sweet smile Duncan now gave him.  
"Methos, we all do stupid things occasionally…"  
"Even you?" This with a raised eyebrow and a slight laugh. He needed to lighten the mood.   
"Even me, but it's ok."  
Just what was going on here? Duncan apologising, trying to reassure him? This was way too easy. And, he realised that fact was starting to worry him. As long as knew where he was with MacLeod, everything was fine. But the damned Scot had to keep changing the ground rules on him. First he wanted to protect him, then he was in awe of him, then he treated him like another student. Sometimes a drinking buddy. Occasionally, a confident and friend. Then, he was treating him like scum. Now…  
Now, the other man was looking at him like he was the most important thing there. It was unnerving.  
"Mac, I said, no being in awe of the amazing 5000 year-old man!"  
"I'm not. Not any more. It's just that I've realised something. And, no, it's not because you're the oldest of us all, it's just because of who you are. You're too important to loose…"  
Methos gulped, tore his gaze away from Mac, and struggled to his feet. Bloody Hell! He knew! Bloody Duncan bloody straight-as-an-arrow bloody knew how he felt. And he was…teasing him?  
"Methos, I…"  
"Mac, I'll see you around", he called over his shoulder as he attempted to break the record for quickest time between couch and door. He just couldn't do this.  
"Damn!" Duncan swore softly to himself as the barge was suddenly bereft of Methos' presence. He'd expected some teasing, a polite but friendly brushing off and a 'I'm flattered, but, no'. He'd hoped for a little understanding. He'd wished for resiparatation. But something he really hadn't expected, after things had been going so well, was for Methos to run like a frightened rabbit. 


	4. Part Four

Part Four:  
  
For once Methos didn't run straight to Joe's. It was true that alcohol took his mind off things, but, even for him, it was still early, and he would only drink too much. He'd just end up musing over his problems again rather than forgetting them. And for just a short while, he really wanted to be able to forget about Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. So instead he took himself to his favourite bookshop. He spent a pleasant hour rummaging through the new acquisitions. Having selected a couple, he bought a coffee at the store's little coffee-shop and settled into one of the comfy armchairs for the afternoon. Methos had long ago decided that books were great places to escape into and forget about things for a while.   
It was some time later when Methos was dragged back to reality by the feel of presence. 'Why now?' he wondered, whilst at the same time glanced around for a possible back-exit to the shop. After a second, though, he realised the presence was the one he knew almost as well as his own.  
"Damn!" he said aloud, "Can't MacLeod just leave me alone!"  
Mac glanced around the cosy little shop, searching for Methos. He'd never visited this place before, it was a little out of the way from the areas around by the barge that he knew so well. Yet he knew Methos even better and somehow had had the feeling that this was where he would now find the older man. The sense of presence confirmed his suspicions.   
'Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away. Is it too late to make a run for it', Methos wondered, 'I can't do this twice in one day. I didn't realize earlier how hard it would be.'  
Then, the other man was there, standing in the doorway of the back room where Methos was sitting, a small smile playing around his lips as if he had just won the Scout's annual treasure-hunt. Something inside Methos snapped. Did Duncan really think he knew him so well, he could just waltz in and expect to carry on as usual? And how dare he invade his last-kept sanctuary? Maybe it was time to let Duncan know exactly what he had gotten himself into.   
Duncan saw Methos tense as he entered the room. He wondered what he'd unwittingly done that morning to scare the oldest Immortal. Things had just started to return to normal. Maybe better than normal. He knew that Methos may not feel the same way he did but surely he was experienced with unrequited…What? Love, passion, lust…? Duncan wasn't sure how to define it. He only knew he had to let Methos know that he felt more than friendship for him. He knew he couldn't not have the older man in his life - in whatever capacity Methos was happy with. As long as he just didn't disappear. And as long as there was some chance, some small hope, however minuscule, that Methos may return his feelings. If he didn't, he would have to live with being friends only. And, he would. Once he knew. It was true that Methos had stayed whilst the Highlander wasn't even paying him the time of day. When he was selfishly, foolishly trying so hard to get to the bottom of what was in his head that he ignored everything and everyone. He'd really been stupid, hadn't he? He wouldn't blame Methos for having nothing to do with him. But, as long as he was able, he would try his hardest to see that wouldn't be the case.  
"MacLeod, will you just leave me alone for once", he hissed, as Mac approached.  
"No".   
"God, save me from infuriating Scottish Boy-Scouts. Seriously, Mac, just go. I think we said everything this morning".  
"Did we? I didn't think so. We need to finish this…"  
" 'Finish this?' Fine, but not here. Let's go outside".  
Methos ran a hand through his hair, trying not to notice the slight tremor there, and strode out of the shop and into a quiet ally, not once looking to see if Duncan was following him.  
As he saw Duncan appear he drew his sword.  
"What? Methos, I didn't come here to fight you!"  
"No, but isn't that the only way to 'finish' things between Immortals, Mac? Maybe we should just get it over with."  
"Noh! I don't want your head."  
"You sure about that? Besides, maybe I want yours."  
"Noh…" The response was whispered, but Duncan had no more time to say anything before Methos advanced on him, a feral grin on his face. Duncan slowly backed up, until he was against the wall. Then, in desperation, he drew his katana, just in time to block Methos' first parry.  
"Still sure you don't want to fight, Highlander?" Methos lunged again, and Duncan had to work hard to block it. He wondered where this had come from.  
"Methos, stop…"  
"Uh-uh, MacLeod. You know the rules. No interfering in a challenge once it's been issued."  
"You really want to do this?"  
"What, you don't trust me? You nearly had me convinced that you did, earlier. Think I'm not serious? Who knows? Never can trust Death, you know."  
"Methos, Death isn't you! I know that now!"  
"Well, bully for you, Mac. Now tell it to someone who cares."  
"I thought…never mind." Duncan's whispered comment was almost lost to the wind, but Methos just caught it, and wondered at the sadness in the tone, then disregarded it. He needed to fight, needed to re-establish who and what he was. Needed to reassure himself that he didn't need Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.  
"Methos, I don't want to fight you." But Duncan found himself blocking more and more of Methos fast flurry of strikes, and beginning to go on the defensive himself, his centuries of training coming into instinctive use despite his words.  
"Fine, I'll just take your head then, shall I?"  
"You wouldn't…"  
"Really. Just watch." Methos snarled as he suddenly changed tactics, his strikes becoming, if possible, even faster and more unpredictable. The fight had gotten very serious very quickly, and with a sinking heart Duncan realised that, for whatever reason, Methos was fighting to win - and to take his Quickening.  
  
Blades struck and both fighters moved with a grace and agility rarely seen. To an outsider this would like some kind of orchestrated dance. For what seemed like hours they parried back and forth, fairly evenly matched. However, Duncan was started to breathe heavily; the fight was taking all his concentration and speed. Meanwhile, Methos seemed to be hardly raising a sweat. Although Duncan was the stronger one, Methos was just as clearly the faster one, and he continued using that speed against the Highlander. Duncan had finally stopped his pleas of Methos to stop. He was still unsure why his friend had picked this fight with him, but he could now do nothing but see it through to its conclusion.   
  
With a start, Duncan felt Methos' sword pierce his thigh.   
"First blood, Highlander". The smirk on Methos' face was no different to that Duncan had seen millions of times before - in far more pleasant situations - except that this one didn't reach his eyes. Methos' eyes remained as they had since the start of the fight - cold and hard.   
"Happy now?" Duncan asked, panting for breath.  
"No. Not really."  
"Enough, Methos! If you really want my head that badly, for God's sake, take it!"   
"Tsk, tsk, MacLeod, where's your honour?"  
"Thought you didn't care about honour…"  
"I don't. Now fight!"  
And so it continued. Duncan could see how outmatched he was becoming. He was blocking less and less of Methos' strikes. So far, all wounds inflicted, all on Duncan, were superficial. Methos was playing with him, he could tell. Duncan was loosing all sense of time, all sense of why he was doing this. He knew that he wasn't about to win this one. There was reason why Methos had survived 5000 years, after all. All that remained was the rush of adrenaline, the blood rushing in his eyes, the world narrowing to himself and his opponent, and the heat of battle between them. His eyes were locked on Methos' and the dance continued. It became more and more intense, Duncan becoming more and more willing to surrender to the amazing man fighting him, in more ways than one. And again he wondered, just what was this connection drawing them together? The pull he felt to Methos was almost magnetic, and the battle so intense that he had long ago become aroused.  
With a sharp pain, he felt Methos' sword slice through the lower part of his arm, cutting a nerve. He dropped his sword as his hand spasmed. Breathing heavily, he looked up into Methos eyes. The older Immortal raised his sword to Duncan's neck, but Duncan still couldn't believe Methos would take his head. He didn't think he had the power to stop him, though, if that was what he wanted. He probably didn't have the power to refuse Methos anything at this moment.   
Methos placed his sword under Duncan's chin, drawing the steel along that tantilising skin. With the heat and intensity of the battle still ringing in his ears, and Methos standing so close, the touch of the blade was deadly erotic. Duncan leaned into the caress, closing his eyes.  
"There can be only one", Methos whispered. Duncan opened his eyes, looking at his opponent.   
"So strike…"  
Something flashed in Methos' eyes, and he took his sword, pulling back to strike at Duncan's neck, whilst the Highlander kept his eyes locked with Methos' once again.  
He swung, fast, and came to rest once again at the side of Duncan's neck. The blade had drawn blood, where Methos had stopped it with a jerk. With a small, wordless cry, Methos throw his sword to the ground, and turned away from Duncan, facing the wall of the alley and leaning against it with both hands for support.  
Duncan let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and reached out to touch Methos' shoulder.  
"Don't". The word was quiet, soft, as if it made no difference whether it was said or not. But Duncan withdrew his hand as if Methos' body was too hot to touch.   
"Methos, it's ok…"  
"OK? No, Duncan, I don't think it is." Methos replied without looking at Duncan, but he could hear the tension in the elder man's voice.   
"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" The word became a chant, getting gradually louder and louder, and Methos drew back and punched into the wall, breaking his hand in the process, needing some other pain to focus on, but still not able to stop the words flowing, or his hand repeatedly hitting the hard stone.  
"I can't…I can't do this! Damn you, Duncan! Damn you, damn you…"   
Duncan watched, wishing he knew how to help his friend. He approached cautiously, and once more reached out a hand towards Methos. He caught his fist about to strike the wall again, and turned the other man to face him. There were tears in the old man's unfocused eyes, and for a minute it was as if Methos didn't even realise Duncan was there. Then his eyes cleared a little and he looked at Mac.  
"Methos, stop…"  
"Mac, let me go."  
"No, Methos. Not this time."  
"Oh, God, why can't you just let me be? What do you want from me now?"  
"Nothing. Can't you understand that?"  
"It's too late for nothing", Methos whispered.   
Duncan wondered what that meant but decided there were more important things for the moment. He pulled Methos close and put an arm around him. The old man was shivering now, and Duncan belatedly realised that Methos had come out into the snow without a coat. The light had long since left the alley and it was much later than Duncan had realised.   
"Mac…"   
"Shhh." Letting go of Methos just long enough to slip his own coat off, he slipped it around the other man's shoulders.  
"Let's go home".   
  
The fight having left him for the moment, Methos numbly allowed Duncan to lead him back to the barge. He was freezing cold - he'd always hated the snow - and the only warmth seemed to be from Duncan's arm around him. He sagged against the other man, and savoured the feel of the close comfort and warmth of Duncan MacLeod.  
  
Neither man noticed Joe Dawson huddled in a corner opposite the bookstore. He had watched the entire scene open-mouthed, wondering just what he'd started.  
"I think I've created a monster", he mumbled to himself as he left, determined to make things right with his friends this time. 


	5. Part Five

Part Five:  
  
Methos snapped back to reality as they entered the barge. He stared at Duncan, who, catching his gaze, just smiled at him.  
"Why are you doing this, MacLeod. I just tried to kill you?"  
"No you didn't."  
"I didn't?!"  
"No."  
"So, are you going to tell me what did I do, oh wise one?"  
"No". And that maddening smile widened in response. Methos groaned as he recognised it as one of his favourite annoy-MacLeod-smirks. So, the boy scout did pay attention to his elders, he realised.  
"Now, you're staying on the couch tonight. We can talk in the morning."  
"Mac, do you know how many of my marriages ended with such words. It is not a comfortable feeling."  
"Maybe so, but say you'll stay. Please. Just for tonight?"  
The intensity of Duncan's gaze and his sudden switch from joking to begging nearly undid Methos, and he nodded mutely. He was too tired to go anywhere further this evening anyway, he reasoned, as he settled back into the familiar feel of the sofa. He didn't have any more fight left in him.  
  
  
Methos was still asleep when Duncan rose the next morning, later than usual. He had spent much of the night contemplating the events of the day, wondering why Methos seemed so eager to run all the time, and when not able to run, to fight, like a wild animal backed into a corner. Had life really been so hard to the Old Man that he felt that he had to fight for everything, he'd wondered in amazement. Watching his reluctant flatmate, he noted again how young he looked when asleep. He often tried to imagine what it would be like to survive for 5000 years. In the end he had admitted that he just couldn't. He'd also had to then tell himself that, by that same reasoning, he couldn't expect to understand Methos, couldn't hold him to the same values and ideals he himself held dear. Even he had changed much over 400 years, just how much had Methos changed over 5000 years? How much had he had to endure, just to survive? How confused must he feel, how lost?   
"I really hope you have something to ground you from time to time, Old Man," he whispered now, and in an impulse, leant forward and brushed his friend's hair from his forehead. Methos shifted slightly, but didn't wake.   
Yesterday Duncan had began to hope that perhaps he might be the thing to help ground Methos, but now he knew that even he couldn't hope to contain the oldest Immortal. It was like trying to tame a wild animal. One that used humans for food, and put on a show for keepers and visitors but was kept alone, was stamped handle with care, no-one knowing when it might turn on them. It would be cruel to expect Methos to stay with him, especially after he'd betrayed him, again. Duncan knew that Methos had depended on him to help him with Kronos, and if it hadn't been for Cassandra, who knows what may have been. But he had acted just like predicted and forced Methos into a corner.   
  
Methos' eyes suddenly flickered open, and Duncan stood back, his face aflame, knowing he'd just given Methos lifetimes of tease material for being caught staring so close and so tender. The thought made him smile, though, at least it might make Methos stay around.  
"Something I can help you with, MacLeod?" The voice was lazy, slow, but Duncan could still sense the tension behind it. The tension that hadn't really left since Kronos had appeared.   
"No, nothing, just…nothing." Duncan turned away, aware of Methos eyes on him as he walked away to make coffee.  
Methos blinked, watching him go, and let his mind wander to the events of the previous evening. Why was he still at the barge? Why had Mac persuaded him to stay? Not that he ever took much persuading where the Highlander was concerned. That was probably the only answer he had about the previous day's events. He'd turned on the Highlander again, hadn't he? Why hadn't Duncan just taken his sorry excuse for a Quickening when he had the chance? And why hadn't the patented boy-scout lecture still not occurred?  
"Coffee, Methos?"  
"Sure…Mac, what's going on?"  
"Coffee…"  
"I know coffee, but else?"  
"You want some breakfast?"  
"I want…" 'I want to go back to sleep, with you beside me', he thought to himself. He licked his dry lips, and tried again.  
"I want you to come over here and talk to me."  
Without a word, Duncan was by his side.  
"Sit". Duncan sat, staring at him. Again.  
"What…what do you want to talk about?"  
"Gods, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want us to talk. Really talk. Honest talk. This could be a one-off offer Mac, so I'd take it if I were you. Why? Don't ask. Maybe I'm not fully awake yet, maybe I'm just confused, and I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whatever I seem to do at the moment, I end up on your couch. So, what's going on?"  
"I-I told you, yesterday. The double quickening."  
"Yes, you said something about that. That was before you changed the rules on me. Again. And before I tried to kill you."  
"You think I changed the rules on you?"  
"Mac, stop evading."  
"I'm not…"  
"You are. I can sense your nervousness. Through this strange connection you seem to be so interested in. And, yes, you changed the rules. It makes me nervous! That honest enough for you? I tried to tell you yesterday - every time I think I've got our relationship figured out, you change it. Now more then ever. Will you just get it over with, already!"  
"Get what over with?"  
"The lecture! The let's try to impart some sense of responsibility and morals and honour into poor Methos. Or even, the let's get angry at Methos for pulling a sword on me yesterday. Anything!"  
"You want me to be angry with you? Now I'm confused."  
"Good! Be confused!"  
"No! Stop. You're doing it again. Running. Going on the defensive. When will you learn that I won't hurt you? I thought we had come to some understanding yesterday."  
"MacLeod, what nonsense are you going on about now?"  
"Damn, of course you can't believe it, when I keep hurting you. Letting you down…" He turned away from the other man.  
"Mac, I'm the one that keeps letting you down, or have you forgotten."  
"You don't believe that anymore than I should have. I should have listened to you, helped you. I wanted to be your friend. I wanted you to open up to me, and when you do, I lose it. I am so, so sorry Methos."   
There was silence for a second before Mac heard a strange sound coming form beside him. He looked back round at Methos. He was sitting with his face huddled into his hands. Was the Old Man crying? No, wait; he was laughing?  
Slowly Duncan reached over and pulled Methos' hands away, not breaking his contact even when Methos looked up at him and Duncan saw his second guess was correct.  
"You're laughing at me, Old Man?"  
"Oh, Gods. Ok, I believe you're sorry. Maybe you have learnt something. Do you know how stupid we've been, Mac? You've being trying to apologise to me for the past two days, haven't you? And, I didn't want to listen. Didn't want to believe it was true. I can't forgive myself so why should you forgive me? But, I have changed. Even I know that. Maybe you have as well…I don't know. Here I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it made me make things worse. You thought you'd betrayed me and I thought I'd betrayed you. Well, whyever you chose to let things go about Bordeaux, I am grateful…"  
"Maybe I have changed, but that would have only been because you taught that things aren't so black and white, but I've also realised that I had no business being angry with you. I saw inside you Methos. The depth of you, the age of you, scared me. But then I found there was something that scared me more than that. The truth."  
"The truth?"  
"Yes, the reason why I was so angry, the reason I felt so betrayed."  
"Oh, and what was that?"  
Duncan just smiled, and stared down at their still-entwined hands.   
"Why do we always have to fight, Methos?"  
"Because you're the hero…and I'm the villain?"  
"You're noh villain!" Duncan's passion and accent increased as he responded instantly.  
"Glad someone thinks so."  
This time Duncan took a deep breath before answering.  
"Methos, you can't really believe that."  
"Well, I suppose if the great Duncan Macleod says it, it must be true". But there was a lightness in his tone that had been missing earlier.  
"I can think of much better things for us to do besides fight, you know," Duncan murmured, knowing he may not get a another chance to tell his friend how he felt.   
Methos just arched an eyebrow and studied his friend. Breaking the gaze, Duncan let his eyes rest on their clasped hands again - he couldn't do this with Methos staring at him. That look took his breath away.   
For whatever reason, conscious or subconscious, Methos had allowed Duncan to continue grasping his hands, curling into the touch. The elder man now followed Duncan's gaze with his own, watching as Duncan raised Methos' hands to his lips and lightly kissed it. It was such a light touch but Methos couldn't stop his gasp.   
Encouraged, Duncan leant over the small distance separating them.  
"Much better things," he whispered, before catching Methos' still-open mouth in a much-longed for kiss.  
Methos eyes widened at the touch of Duncan's mouth on his, before he gave in completely and leant into the caress. Hundreds of clichés ran through his mind at once. He'd wanted this for so long, it was hard to believe this wasn't another of his Duncan dreams. Well, even if it was, he was nearly too far gone for him to care, anyway. Duncan tasted like Scotch, his lips soft and tender. Like water to a man dying of thirst, and other silly sayings Methos had never believed in until now.  
And then, coming back to himself, Methos pulled away, aware of going too fast, getting in too deep.  
Duncan's eyes were wide with desire, his mouth swollen. Methos swallowed, knowing he should stop this, but wondering how on earth he could. It was too dangerous. But, wasn't everything worth something also risky?  
"Wait," he managed.  
"Why?" Duncan mummered, reached over to stroke Methos' cheek and down his jawline.  
"Mac, you're not making this any easier."  
"Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you really want me to stop, and I will."  
"I…I…"  
"You can't, can you". Duncan kissed him again. Deeper this time, his tongue meeting Methos', the intimate touch almost electric. Gods, thought Methos abstractly, talk about a connection!  
Reluctantly he pulled away.  
"Duncan, stop."  
"You don't mean that?"  
Methos looked at him. It would be so easy to give in. It was what he'd wanted for years. But that was when it was a nice little fantasy, when Duncan didn't know, when they were just friends. That was bad enough. But he see himself completely loosing himself, heart and soul, to Duncan MacLeod. And that was dangerous. Was terrifying. The fact that Mac was an immortal magnet was only the tip of the iceberg. The only part of himself that he still seemed to have, after 5000 years, was the small piece right in the centre of him. The part very few people even saw, or touched. Now it was in danger of being lost to Duncan MacLeod. Could Methos allow that? He just didn't know. Even for Duncan? The Highlander was right. Whether it was the shared Quickening or something else, there was a connection between them that could only get deeper if their relationship developed this way. Now may be his only chance to stop it. So, steeling his heart, Methos took a deep breath, looked Duncan in the eye, and lied to him.   
"I do mean it, Duncan. This isn't what I want."  
"Noh…"  
"I'm sorry…" It was woefully inadequate, and the look in Duncan's eyes almost made him take it all back. Duncan dropped his hands and moved from the couch, not looking at the other man. Methos' heart dropped. He honestly hadn't realised that Duncan felt so strongly. Was he just being a selfish idiot to pass this up? To deny both himself and Duncan like this?  
  
Hearing the bathroom door slam close a moment later, Methos quickly grabbed his clothes, and dressed in record time.  
He hesitated only a second before scribbling a quick note and then slipping quietly out of the door.  
  
Duncan emerged from the bathroom some time later. He had felt Methos leave some time ago, and hadn't been ready to leave the shelter of the bathroom and face the truth. He'd been so sure. How could he have misread what he'd seen in Methos' heart? And felt in those brief but amazing kisses. But, if he hadn't wrong, it meant that Methos had lied. Again. Had run again. Damn. He noticed a scrap of paper on the sofa, and picked it up:  
'Duncan,  
I'm truly sorry. Live, grow stronger, flight another day; and watch your head.  
Your friend,  
M'.  
  
'Friend'. He tore the note into tiny pieces in anger. No, he was not going to do this. Not again. Grabbing his jacket, Duncan rushed out of the door, hoping to catch Methos before it too long. 


	6. Part Six

Part Six:  
  
Methos stood staring Joe's bar, the sign flickering in a steady pulse, comforting. It was a nice sign; it was a nice bar. Damn, but he'd miss Joe, he realised. What was it about this lifetime that had suddenly made everything so hard? Things he'd done a thousand times before. When had self-survival began losing its appeal, he wondered.  
"Hi Adam. You want a beer, or is it too early even for you?"   
"Thanks, Joe. Joe, I…"  
"What's up?" The watcher turned to study his friend more closely.  
"Man, you look awful!"  
"Gee, thanks!"  
"I thought you looked bad last night, but…Oh, God, this is all my fault, isn't it? I shouldn't have forced you and Mac to talk."  
"It wasn't your fault, Joe. I know you were trying to help."  
"So, what? You two had another fight?"  
"You could say…"  
"I thought, after that stunt outside the bookstore…Didn't Mac help you home?"  
"You were watching?!"  
"Um, yeah."  
"Great. Just great! So, you wanna lecture me too?"  
"No, Methos, I just…I'm your friend. And Mac's friend. And I'm still caught in the middle. What the hell happened after the fight? And why did you pull that stunt? You don't really want Mac's head?"  
"You sure about that Joe?"  
"Damn sure I'm sure. I know you, Methos!"  
"Yeah. You, Mac, you'll all such experts on the great Methos. Wish I knew me as well as you do. I might actually be able to figure out why I'm doing the best thing to do, the complete opposite to want I want to do, and I'm still not happy."  
"You're leaving?"  
"General plan, Joe, yeah."  
"And that's the sensible, logical plan, is it?"  
"Yeah".   
"Sounds damn boring if you ask me."  
"Well, I'm not asking you, Joe!"  
"Tough, I'm still tellin' you!"  
"Oh, Gods, Joe, maybe you're right. How long can I run from the inevitable, after all?"  
"Damn right! So what is the inevitable?"  
"Me, Mac…"  
"I won't watch you two fight again!"  
"Well, there might be some fighting involved…" The smirk was back in full force.  
"Ohhhh. Ok, I'm not even going to go there."  
"No, Joe. Still, I've probably pushed Mac even further away now. It's never gonna happen."  
"He told you that, did he? Not what he told me."  
"Everyone tells their barman everything, don't they?"  
"Damn right", Joe laughed again.  
"Ok, so, let's say, for the sake of argument, that Duncan does fancy the pants off me..."  
Mehos laughed as Joe half-choked, half-snorted the finger of scotch he'd just started drinking.  
"Well, that's one way of putting it", he replied, when he'd recovered.  
"Look, seriously Joe. Duncan…kissed me, and I…I panicked."   
"You? You panicked? At getting what you always wanted?"  
"Who said I- Damn, am I that transparent?"  
"Only to me, my friend."  
"So, Joe, tell me. Why do I deserve to get what I've always wanted?"  
"Why not?" Joe shrugged as if it were the easiest thing in the world.  
"It's not that easy."  
"What is? But isn't it worth the risk?"  
"Joe, I just can't…"  
"Can't what? Let yourself be happy? Let Mac be happy? Cos that just sounds selfish to me."  
"What if I loose him? Nothing good in my life has lasted."  
"And what if you don't lose him? You deserve to be happy. You're not a monster."  
"I wish I could believe that as well as you and Mac do."  
"Give it time."  
"When did you get so wise, youngster?"  
"Must be when I started hanging around wise old men! So, am I forgiven for interfering?"  
"It's what you do best, Joe!" Methos laughed, but then grew serious again.  
"I still don't know…"  
  
Joe's reply was cut off by Methos' mumbled swearing.  
"Shit!"  
He jumped up and grabbed his coat, making for the back exit of the bar.  
"Methos - "  
"Sorry, Joe."  
But it was too late. As Joe expected the door opened to reveal a very angry looking Duncan.  
"Mac!" Methos almost yelped. He really hadn't expected Duncan to come after him. Not so soon. That's what he got for sitting chatting to barkeepers.  
"Shouldn't you be half way to Bora Bora by now, old man?"  
"I left a note."  
"Big of you."  
"What do you want me to say, Mac. You know I can't do this."  
"I believe you. You're just scared, and there's no need."  
Methos closed his eyes against the temping words and image. But the mental image was even stronger.   
"What happens when you find out about more of my past?"  
"As long as you're the one to tell me, I'm sure I'd cope. Everyone has skeletons in their closet."  
" 'Everyone has…'? Ok, who are you and what have you done with Duncan MacLeod."  
Duncan just smiled and moved closer to Methos.  
"Aren't you supposed to be too angry to want me to stay?"  
"Methos, don't you know that it would take more than a note to get rid of me?"  
"And I ask again - what have you done with the real MacLeod?"  
"I haven't done anything. This is all your fault." He moved closer still to Methos, a predatory look in his eyes. Methos gulped and stumbled back against the bar. Maybe he really had the Highlander too far this time. It didn't help that he couldn't read the younger man at all at that moment. His own emotions were engulfing him too much. The look in Duncan's eyes was dark and dangerous. And sexy as hell. Methos licked his dry lips and felt his legs start to wobble. Surely he was too old to become weak at the knees at the sight of an attractive body.   
"J- Joe, some help here?"  
"Methos, I gave you all the help you're getting before Mac got here. Now why don't you act on it."  
"Sounds like good advice to me," Duncan purred, his body inches from Methos, who felt like his feet were glued to the floor. And his eyes glued to Mac's face.   
"Mac, what part of 'I don't want this' don't you understand?"  
"Oh I understood. But I realised something."  
"What now? You figured out the origins of Immortals?"  
"Nothing that amazing. Just that I didn't believe you, and your emotions betrayed you."  
" 'My-?" Oh, well that's just great. Good to know my emotions can screw me over as well." He welcomed the flash of annoyance, it helped to steady him again. Once again, Duncan MacLeod proclaimed to know him better than he knew himself. Once again, Duncan was probably right.  
"Now, now, Methos, they were only trying to help."  
"Huh, sounds like you, Highlander."  
"Maybe we have more in common than you think."  
"Yeah, right."   
"Right," Duncan repeated in a whisper. He reached out to take Methos' hands in his.  
"Mac, I said-"  
"You know what, old man? You talk too much." Duncan leaned over and captured Methos' mouth with his own. This time Methos was too far gone to resist, and after a minute began to take control of the kiss, pulling Duncan to him and communicating his passion the only way he could. This time it was only the need for breath that stopped him. It looked like he'd made his decision without even realising it. He couldn't just go off and leave this.   
"Wow."   
Methos just smirked and tried to decide whether Duncan looked more irresistible half-stunned, like he did now, or with that predatory look on his face.   
"You- You had something to say?"  
"You know what, Mac? Actions speak louder than words." Methos kissed him again, only slightly less desperately. Was it possible to get addicted to the taste of someone, he wondered.   
"So, you'll stay?"  
"I really don't think I have any choice."  
"There's always choice, but it wasn't so hard to make the right one, was it?"  
"Mac, it's not that simple! How many times do I have to tell you that it's more than right or wrong? You-"  
Then he saw the grin on Duncan's face.  
"I think I get that now."  
"No more expecting me to be perfect…"  
"I know, I know. You're just a guy. But you're a guy I can't live without."  
"Oh, geez, Mac. Please don't get all soppy on me."  
"Tell me you don't feel the same?" Duncan asked, serious again.  
"I do feel the same. But-"  
"No more too-high expectations. I'll try. And you? No more running when things get tough?"  
"I'll try."  
"That's all I ask."  
"Mac?"  
"Hmmm?"  
"Let's go home. I have a sudden need to do more than kiss you."  
And after that, there was nothing else to say. 


End file.
